


On the Scent

by dedkake



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Biting, Bloodplay, Established Relationship, Knotting, M/M, Rough Sex, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedkake/pseuds/dedkake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The full moon is nearing and Charles decides to visit his neighbor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Scent

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/9701.html?thread=22248933) on the kink meme and for the bloodplay square on my [longfic bingo](http://longfic-bingo.livejournal.com/) [card](http://dedkake.livejournal.com/11425.html). Thanks to emmy for the beta.

“You smell horrid, darling,” Charles growls, nearly tackling Erik to floor as soon as the door opens.

Erik merely growls back, wrapping one arm around Charles’ waist to keep him up and slamming the door with the other. As soon as the pesky door is locked and bolted, Erik takes them to the den, trusting Charles to keep his own balance. The room is dark, its heavy, velvet curtains drawn against the cold November sky and shimmering with the glow of firelight.

The moment Erik tries to deposit Charles on the couch, Charles growls again, wrapping himself around Erik with renewed fervor and burying his nose in Erik’s neck. Erik sighs heavily and drops to the couch himself, wincing as Charles jostles him to make himself comfortable.

“Absolutely revolting,” Charles mumbles, his lips wet on the skin of Erik’s neck.

“That would be a more credible assessment if you could keep your hands off of me,” Erik says, running one hand up Charles’ back to scratch him behind his ears.

Charles melts against him, and Erik imagines that if Charles had a tail, it would be swishing happily against Erik’s knees. “You’re horrible,” he says, although he sounds quite content. “Taking advantage of my weakened state of mind to pick holes in my arguments—cheater.”

Switching to the other ear, Erik grins. “Are you really admitting that your mind has weakened, Charles?” he asks slyly. “I thought you were in perfect control at all points in time.”

“Shut up,” Charles whines, pressing himself so close to Erik that it borders on uncomfortable. “You smell gross, so your opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Gross?” Erik repeats, mildly offended. _Horrid_ and _revolting_ had at least been specific descriptors—gross was something a schoolboy used to describe little girls.

Charles makes a sort of snorting noise, something he does when he’s particularly vexed, before he presses his nose against Erik’s necks and _sniffs_. Erik waits, holding himself as still as he can.

“You smell like dust. You’re a dusty old man. Why can’t you sweat like a normal person?” Charles says morosely, like sweat is the best treasure he could imagine Erik giving him.

Rolling his eyes, Erik returns the gesture. He leans in close to Charles with more finesse, his nose not so much pressing against Charles as resting gently against his neck. His lip curls. “And you smell like you haven’t bathed in a month,” he says, leaning back and making a point to stick his nose as far away from Charles as he can.

“I showered before dinner,” Charles grumbles, sitting back on Erik’s knees to give Erik a wounded look. “It’s natural.”

“Yes, I know,” Erik agrees, pressing a hand against Charles chest to put even more space between them. “I wouldn’t set foot within one hundred feet of your house around the full moon. You and your pack of pups reek. I can smell you all the way down the street.”

Charles’ eyes narrow, taking on a mischievous glint in the firelight. “You like it,” he says eventually, a smile catching the edge of his tone.

Erik frowns and looks away, folding his arms across his chest.

“Admit it,” Charles whispers, leaning in close once more, his arms bracketing Erik in on the couch. Slowly, almost tentatively, Charles pushes his lips against Erik’s.

His lips are warm and wet, blood pumping close beneath the surface, and his scent is nearly overwhelming, musky and thick and _alive_. Erik can feel his sharpening fangs ache and throb behind his lips and he clenches his jaw against his instinct to bite.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that,” Erik says once he’s mastered himself.

“Are you really going to play hard to get with me?” Charles asks, pressing his forehead to Erik’s.

Shrugging his shoulder non-committally, Erik tries to look away, but finds his eyes drawn down, almost crossing, to where Charles is gnawing at his lower lip, drawing even more blood to the surface, before one perfect canine slips and brings a beautiful drop of blood to bead on Charles’ lip.

Erik lets out a short sigh and most definitely does not moan at the scent of blood in the air. His breathing is speeding up and the throbbing in his fangs is almost unbearably painful, but he manages to look up at Charles, away from the blood, without incident.

Charles is grinning, his eyes crinkling with wicked delight as he watches Erik’s dilemma. “Have you fed?” he asks, his voice pitched low and quiet, almost a purr.

For a moment, Erik doesn’t know the answer, and when he finds it, he only knows it because his vision isn’t red yet, despite the ache inside. “Of course,” he says hoarsely, his throat feeling dry, but he swallows down his desire. “It wouldn’t be very wise for me to go starving myself around the full moon. One of us has to be able to keep his head.”

He's lucky Charles doesn't ask him if he's used up any of the refrigerated packages of blood Charles had obtained for him. Erik still can't bring himself to drink it, the memory of Shaw and the lab ever present at the back of his mind. They're working on it, though, and Charles is as understanding as he is firm in his belief that they don't need to hurt humans.

“How considerate,” Charles laughs, licking the blood off his lip. The wound is already healing, tender and pink instead of red with blood, and Erik finds himself missing it so much it hurts. “How can I ever repay you?”

“Oh,” Erik says, pushing himself up to pull Charles back down by his face, “I could think of a few ways.” He kisses him almost violently, shoving his tongue past his lips to chase that speck of blood before it disappears completely.

Charles moans, clawing desperately at Erik’s shirt, his fingernails already sharpening. The cut on his lip reopens under the force of Erik’s kiss and Charles’ enthusiastic response, and Erik growls, sucking that lip into his mouth and savoring the trickle of blood it offers. Charles doesn’t move while Erik takes his sip. He keeps himself perfectly still above him, fingers trembling against Erik’s chest, pulling in shortened breaths to keep himself stable. Erik can feel all of him, pressing hot against him, from his lip to his fingers to his cock, hard inside his jeans.

When Erik finally pulls back to look up at Charles, he says, “You taste vile.”

It’s not true. Charles tastes amazing. Charles is Erik’s favorite treat in the whole world. In all his years he’s never tasted anything quite so delicious as Charles’ blood. Like all supernatural beings Erik has had the pleasure of tasting, Charles’ blood is suffused with a heady spice that makes Erik dizzy, but it’s even more than that with Charles. Despite not knowing what makes Charles’ blood so special, Erik contents himself with knowing that he has Charles’ whole life to figure it out.

“Fuck you,” Charles grumbles, pushing Erik’s shoulder gently.

Glancing around the room, he seems almost startled at what he finds. “Why didn’t you take me upstairs?” he asks, sinking lower over Erik on the couch.

Erik can feel the hot line of his cock against his thigh and he smirks, shifting under Charles with just enough pressure to make him gasp. “I didn’t think you’d want to leave your pups alone for the whole night,” he says conversationally, settling back against the couch.

Charles glares, rolling himself into another brief kiss. “They’re not my pups,” he growls. “They’re my pack.”

Erik knows the difference, knows that Charles has never Changed anyone and never plans to do so, but it’s a small technicality that Erik likes needling nonetheless. “Don’t you need to be there to make sure they don’t pee on the carpet or pull down the drapes?” he asks.

“Those things can be replaced,” Charles growls, rocking against Erik with one very clear purpose. “Now, are you going to take me to bed?”

Leaning forward, Erik pulls Charles into another kiss, dragging it out, drawing his fangs across Charles’ tongue too gently to draw blood, but with enough force to make them both shiver. “You know the way,” he murmurs, trailing kisses down Charles’ chin and neck, hovering over the beat of his pulse.

“Fuck,” Charles moans, shoving off of Erik and onto his feet. He stumbles momentarily, and Erik doesn’t try to catch him. “Fuck you,” he repeats, chest heaving, before he stomps off in the direction of the stairs.

Once he hears the loud creak of the fourth step, Erik jumps to his feet, moving as silently as he can behind Charles. Chasing another predator is always a better thrill than anything else, as the two of them are continually delighted to rediscover.

On the last step, Charles turns and glares at Erik, just a breath behind him. “Don’t even think about it,” Charles grumbles.

“You could never guess what I was thinking,” Erik says, smirking. Charles continues to glare and Erik leans up to steal a kiss before racing past Charles down the hall.

Charles tackles him to the floor when he catches him this time, just inside the door to the bedroom. They both go down, but Erik rolls with it, twisting and wrestling with Charles until he’s on top, pinning Charles down into the rug they’ve displaced. Leaning down, Erik sucks a kiss into Charles’ neck. He doesn’t bite, though—drawing it out is so much more rewarding, especially with Charles kneading at his chest like that.

When he finally pulls back, Charles is growling, a deep sound that reverberates through Erik’s core. Charles’ lip is peeled back and his nose is twitching lightly with interest. They stare at one another for a moment, breathing, drinking in the sight, before Charles sits up, tugging at Erik’s shirt.

“Don’t tear it,” Erik scolds, jerking his shirt away from Charles. “You’d think you were an animal.”

Charles huffs and instead of turning his attention to his own clothes like a normal person, sets himself on Erik’s chest as soon as it’s revealed, laving a nipple with his tongue as he twists the other in his fingers. Erik gasps, steadying himself on Charles’ shoulder as pleasure washes over him.

Trying to ignore the way his hands are shaking, Erik tugs at Charles’ shirt. “Useless,” he grumbles when Charles whines his protest at being removed from Erik’s chest.

Shirts out of the way, Charles pushes Erik down onto the rug, his hands hot brands around Erik’s biceps as he pins him, his mouth latching onto Erik’s collarbone. The pressure of Charles’ tongue is just right and Erik groans. But he wants to stretch out the fight, make the chase last longer.

“I thought you wanted to be on the bed,” he says, glad his voice is still cool and level.

“No,” Charles says, glancing up at Erik. “I recall specifically wanting you to _take_ me to bed. You’re the one falling behind, not me.”

“If you’re going to be like that,” Erik mumbles, twisting beneath Charles, throwing all of his weight into a tumble that catches Charles off-guard enough to knock him down.

Charles’ head hits the hardwood floor with a loud crack and he groans, rolling off of Erik to curl around himself. “What was that for?” he growls, not even glancing up when Erik crouches over him.

The scent of blood hits Erik like a sledgehammer, flooding his senses. He can feel his fangs throbbing once more, aching with need, and his vision narrows down to the smudge of blood he can see on Charles’ knuckles where he covers the injury. Sucking in a deep breath, Erik asks, “Are you okay?”

Glaring up at Erik from the corner of his eye, Charles says, “No thanks to you.”

Erik is riveted. He can’t take his eyes away from Charles and his mind has come up completely blank. There’s nothing to say, nothing to even think anymore, his entire body trembling with desire for Charles in every way.

“Can I see?” Erik hears himself ask, unable to feel even a flicker of shame at the request.

Charles pushes himself up into a sitting position, keeping his palm over the wound on his forehead and Erik sits with him, managing to keep himself at least a few inches back. Charles raises an eyebrow, studying Erik with a scrutiny that has Erik shivering with anticipation. He tries to make his need as clear as possible and hopes Charles likes what he finds.

“You are ridiculous,” Charles huffs, dropping his hand. “It’s already mostly healed, though. You’re lucky it wasn’t too deep.”

Erik might argue with that, were he fully listening to the words coming out of Charles’ mouth. Instead, he’s leaning in to inspect the bump, unable to keep himself back. The cut has mostly disappeared, leaving behind a mess of blood across Charles’ brow and temple—head wounds always bleed the most. It smells amazing, though, and it glistens in the low light of the room. Erik has to bite his lip to stop himself from leaning in for a taste.

Distantly, he’s aware of Charles laughing and he has a vague notion that it’s at his own expense. But he can’t bring himself to care. He’s probably making a fool of himself—he might be drooling and he has most definitely uttered at least one quiet moan. Charles can laugh all he wants, it will probably just make his blood all that much sweeter, the bastard.

“You don’t have to hold back,” Charles says, and _that_ has Erik’s attention.

Tearing his eyes from Charles’ blood, Erik forces himself to focus on Charles’ eyes instead. “What?”

Charles smirks. “I said, you don’t have to hold back. Go ahead. It’ll save me the trouble of cleaning up.” He tips his head forward slightly, angling it for easier access, and Erik lunges.

He drags his tongue through the worst of the blood with more force than necessary and he can’t help the twinge of arousal in his spine at Charles’ hiss of discomfort. Slowing himself, he cleans up as much of the blood as he can, leaving the bits that have already dried alone—if he gets his teeth involved in any way, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. Still, he doesn’t want to pull away.

Trailing kisses down Charles’ forehead to his ear, Erik takes a moment to appreciate how Charles sits still for him, only moving to run his thumb gently in circles on Erik’s wrist. Charles moans softly when Erik begins to suck gently at the skin beneath his ear, his thumb pressing hard against Erik’s skin.

“Erik,” Charles says, his voice rough.

Erik grunts an acknowledgement, adjusting his angle on Charles’ neck. There’s no way he’s going to pull away enough to speak—he doesn’t think there will ever be anything worth letting go of Charles’ skin.

“Take me to bed.”

When he finally pulls away, Erik can’t help the whine that rises in his throat and Charles laughs breathlessly. Standing on legs that are fortunately sturdier than he feels, Erik pulls Charles up and pushes him back towards the bed, down across the sheets and pillows that are softer than Erik likes and only there on Charles’ insistence. He crawls slowly onto the bed after Charles, drinking in the sight of him in the moonlight.

Charles buries his nose in Erik’s pillows before pulling back abruptly, his lip curled back in disgust. “Even your bed smells wrong,” he says, as if he hasn’t been in this very bed a hundred times before.

“What are you going to do about it?” Erik asks, almost tired of this game. “Pee on it?”

Charles stares at him, wide eyed, glancing slowly down at his cock, an obscene line in his jeans, and then around the bed as if he were actually contemplating the act. As soon as Charles’ sweep of the bed lands him back on Erik, he shakes his head with a sharp jerk. “Don’t tempt me,” he grumbles, but the way he’s blushing makes Erik file it away as something to revisit in the future.

“You’d have to take your pants off first,” Erik says, running a hand up the inseam of his own jeans distractedly.

Grumbling, Charles shifts around on the bed to tug his jeans and briefs off, kicking them unceremoniously to the floor. “And I’m to believe you’ll let me mark your bed without complaint?” he asks, turning back to Erik, his knees spread wide where he kneels on the bed.

Erik takes a steadying breath, very consciously _not_ looking at Charles’ splayed knees. “I _was_ hoping you could use that cock for something else tonight,” he says, lying back to peel himself out of his own jeans. He works slowly, putting on more of a show for Charles than Charles had for him, enjoying the way Charles’ eyes jump between soaking in each new inch of skin and darting back up to take in the arch of Erik’s back and chest as he works his jeans off without getting up.

“Well?” Erik asks when he’s finished, lying back out across the bed. Charles is staring at him, his forehead still bruised with dried blood, the blue of his eyes still glittering faintly around his dilated pupils. “Charles?”

Charles’ jaw snaps shut, his teeth clicking audibly. Dropping to his hands and knees, he prowls slowly across the bed until he’s above Erik, shrouding him from the room completely. His breathing is short and warm and Erik can hear the sound of his pulse—his own jumping to match it.

“Now that you’ve gotten me into bed like I wanted,” Charles murmurs, leaning in close, his voice low and rumbling, “what do you want?”

Reaching up, Erik twists his fingers into the hair at the nape of Charles’ neck, pulling him down into a kiss. As Charles pushes back, tonguing his way into Erik’s mouth, Erik runs the knuckles of his free hand down Charles’ stomach, reveling in the way Charles muscles jump and twitch at his touch. When he reaches Charles’ cock, he gives it a few short pulls and smiles into Charles’ mouth.

“You know exactly what I want,” he says, his fangs catching on Charles’ lip as he presses up for another kiss.

Usually in bed, it is a battle for dominance between them, but Erik gave up fighting around the full moon early on. Charles is nearly insatiable on an average day, and he can go forever around the full moon, or at least until he can pin Erik down and have his way with him. It has something to do with being the leader of his pack, something that Charles denies up and down. Erik even has trouble with the logic—it makes no sense that Charles would need to dominate someone outside of his pack at the full moon—but he’d given up trying to explain Charles when he gave up fighting.

And with Charles’ fingers buried inside him and his mouth wrapped expertly around his cock, Erik feels absolutely no need to complain. Not that he won’t, anyway, but that’s just the way things are.

“Watch out for your claws, you beast,” Erik mutters, pushing back onto Charles’ fingers.

Charles growls and very gently applies more lube. Erik nearly laughs, but the sound turns into a gasp as Charles swirls his tongue on his cock.

“You ready?” Charles asks after a moment.

When Erik manages to open his eyes, he’s met with the image of Charles kneeling over him, stroking their cocks, one in each hand, his eyes bright and hungry. Erik nods, licking his lips and swallowing against his dry throat.

Charles wastes no time pushing in, a contented noise rumbling through him as he curls over Erik, bracing himself on an arm next to Erik’s head. The burn of Charles’ cock leaves Erik panting, fingers digging into the covers beneath him to keep still. Charles’ neck spread so openly before him does nothing to help, the sight of his racing pulse and the smell of his sweat and the dried blood on his skin combining, leaving Erik aching with arousal.

Instead of leaning up and letting his desperate fangs sink into Charles’ throat, Erik grips at Charles’ hips and pushes down to meet him impatiently. “What are you waiting for?” he says, managing to keep his voice controlled.

Panting for air, Charles presses his face more solidly into the bed beside Erik’s face before he pulls himself up and captures Erik’s lips in another kiss. The prick of Erik’s fangs on Charles’ tongue draws blood this time and Erik groans, the world outside of their kiss forgotten until Charles starts up a steady rhythm with his hips.

Erik pushes back, meeting Charles’ thrusts, trying to set the pace as much as he can—to at least meet it. “Come on,” he murmurs, hissing softly when Charles clumsily rakes his claws down Erik’s chest. He’s careful not to break skin, but Erik almost wishes he weren’t.

The hand disappears again before reaching Erik’s cock, and Erik moans, his back arching. He reaches down, intent on relieving at least some of the pressure, at bringing himself more pleasure, but Charles grabs his hand away, forcing it back to the bed beside them.

Charles snarls, something guttural and entirely animal, stills his hips, pressing Erik down into the mattress hard, his claws biting into Erik’s skin. Erik could fight back, he’s strong enough to at least be a match for Charles in this state, but he doesn’t need to. He knows exactly what Charles wants, can feel it in the way he’s unable to stop himself from rutting forward, even now, see it in the gleam of Charles’ teeth in the moonlight. It doesn’t matter what Charles chooses to do—he can’t do any lasting damage to Erik, not without a weapon, and that isn’t what Charles wants, either.

They stare at each for an unbearable amount of time, Charles panting for air above him, hips stuttering uncontrollably forward at irregular intervals, but Erik refuses to look away. Sucking in a long breath, Charles loosens his grip on Erik and moves to get up, but Erik grabs his hand. It might not matter what Charles does, but Erik still wants it to go his way.

“Do it,” he growls, thrusting his chin to the side, baring his neck for Charles. It feels too open, too vulnerable, but he still feels safe with Charles above him.

Charles’ eyes flash, but he bites his own lip and stays still, stays away. “I shouldn’t, my friend,” he says, voice soft, human.

The combined sensation of Charles’ full cock still burning inside him with the scent of blood in the air has Erik feeling hazy, far away, but he shakes his head. “You won’t hurt me, Charles,” he says, holding tight to Charles’ arms. “I won’t Change.”

“I can’t hurt you,” Charles says slowly, the words thick and rough. His eyes never leave Erik’s neck.

Erik smirks up at him and says, “Never. Not even if you tried.”

Charles growls and lunges, pressing Erik back down into the mattress once more, his hips rolling forward in a new, powerful rhythm. He presses his nose into Erik’s neck first, licking a hot stripe across his shoulder and murmuring something that is sweet and possessive before sinking his teeth into the space between Erik’s neck and shoulder.

It’s not gentle, it’s not even simply firm—Charles could rip the flesh from Erik’s shoulder if he pleased, but he doesn’t. He sinks his teeth in further, growling around skin and blood and muscle. He holds on, making minor adjustments whenever the thrusts of his hips force Erik into a new position.

Erik’s shoulder is on fire. It doesn’t hurt like any normal injury, the poison of Charles’ fangs seeping into Erik’s system making it more of an immortal wound and Erik moans, his eyelids fluttering. This is a new hurt, a fresh sensation that sparks something in Erik he hasn’t felt in years of monotony. He feels separated from his body for a moment, and he can distantly feel that he’s coming, spilling himself between their bodies.

Charles growls again and jerks his head, his teeth pulling at Erik’s flesh, and Erik is once again grounded in the moment.

The growling smooths out into a low, contented hum, and Erik shivers. Wanting to be closer, to stay as close as he can, Erik runs his hands over Charles’ sides, his back, his neck. Charles arches into the touch, his teeth still pulling at Erik’s shoulder as he shifts. Erik wonders, distantly, if he’ll be able to come again.

Charles stills above him, his jaw clenching once more before easing off until he’s just lapping at the marks he’s left. But he doesn’t come—he doesn’t exactly come. His cock is still buried inside Erik, and it’s not subsiding, it’s getting larger, expanding, filling Erik up more than it should, more than Charles ever has, _and he’s coming_. Erik gasps.

“Are you really—?” he tries to ask, but his voice is weak and breathless. “Are you _knotting_ me?”

Whining against his chest, Charles shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, his blush bright red on the back of his neck. “This has never happened before. I’m sorry.”

With a sigh, Erik lifts and arm to stroke gently down Charles’ back, mindful of the sensitive area at the base of his spine. The motion soothes Charles somewhat, his weight settling more heavily over Erik. Erik shifts his legs wider, and they both groan as Charles sinks more deeply into him.

“You know I can’t have your puppies, right?” Erik asks after a moment, aiming for a light tone, caught between the absurdity and magnificence of having Charles’ knot up his ass.

“Shut up,” Charles mumbles, his teeth grazing over the fresh wounds on Erik’s shoulder. “You let me bite you—my _god_! I’m so sorry.”

Erik twists his fingers in Charles’ hair in hopes of making him stop apologizing because he can’t find his voice now. The bite on his shoulder isn’t healing, and with Charles’ come slowly filling him up, he feels weak and lightheaded, as if he’s had too much of Charles’ blood.

Turning until his lips brush against Charles’ ear, Erik murmurs, “You feel so fucking good.” He doesn’t mean to say it, meant to say something dry and insulting, and he feels his cheeks heat up.

“What?” Charles grunts, pulling himself away from Erik’s shoulder to look down at him.

Erik’s breath catches in his throat. Charles’ face is smeared with his blood, his nose and lips and chin red with it, and Erik can’t quite stop the groan that rises in his chest. His fangs throb with desire as if he were starving, lust curling through him like a spark, his cock taking interest once more.

“You like this?” Charles asks, biting his lip as he rolls his hips experimentally.

“Fuck—yes,” Erik gasps, trying to keep his eyes open as he pushes himself up on his elbows to lick a stripe through the blood on Charles’ chin. “All of this.”

Smirking, his stubble pulling at Erik’s tongue, Charles says, “You are so gross.”

Erik growls at the insult, dragging his fangs roughly against Charles’ cheek, breaking skin just enough for a pair of new beads of blood to surface. Charles doesn’t stop smirking, but his hips twitch and his breath hitches and Erik feels better.

Lapping at the mixture of their blood on Charles’ skin, Erik groans, his back arching up to press his hardening cock against Charles’ stomach. The motion shifts Charles’ knot once more and Erik is suddenly hyperaware of the amount of come Charles has filled him with—so much that it’s starting to spill from him, seep out around the knot and down his thighs.

“Erik,” Charles whines, his voice soft and desperate, still clouded with need. He’s trembling now, panting as he holds himself still over Erik.

Dropping his head back to the pillow, Erik attempts to get himself back under control. Unfortunately, the sight of the twin streaks of blood on Charles’ cheek slowly mixing in with Erik’s blood makes the task nearly impossible. He tears his eyes away, but ends up staring at Charles’ pulse jumping in his throat instead. He licks his lips.

“Can I?” Distantly, through the slowly reddening haze of his mind, Erik realizes that he’s spoken.

“Fuck,” Charles answers. Erik has no idea if Charles means it in a good way or bad because he can’t look away from Charles’ throat, the sweat glistening there, the tendons stretching and moving as he speaks. “I did yours; of course you can do mine. Yes. _Please_.”

Reaching up, Erik pulls Charles down to him, pleased when Charles melts bonelessly over him. He thinks he should probably warm Charles to this more before he starts, but as soon as he has his mouth over Charles’ throat, he can no longer hold back, sinking his teeth into the perfect skin there, drinking from the freshest, strongest source.

Time fades away, along with any sensation other than Charles’ life on his tongue, sliding smoothly into his mouth, down his throat. He tries to hold portion control in the front of his mind—he doesn’t want to hurt Charles—but he can’t help but lose himself in this moment, as he always does when he drinks from Charles.

Everything is connected here, Charles’ breathing, his pulse, the steady throb of his knot inside of Erik, the nonsense he’s murmuring, Erik’s breathing, the sluggishly bleeding wound on his shoulder, his own pulse quickening as it’s fed, the press of his cock against Charles’ belly—it all blends together into a perfect, beautiful song in Erik’s veins.

When he pulls away finally, he realizes that Charles has wrapped a hand around his cock between them. “Charles,” he whines because it’s just too much, his senses sparking and firing on overload.

Charles hums, his breath fanning into Erik’s hair as he twists his fingers and Erik is coming once more, gasping hoarsely into the quiet air of the room, his vision fading around the edges. Erik slips in and out of awareness for an unknowable stretch of time, high on the heady flavor of Charles’ blood on his tongue and the feel of his cock and come still buried inside.

“Charles,” Erik says when he wakes, because Charles is sleeping, sprawled out across him, his cock still nestled inside of Erik. He shifts slightly, trying to ease some of Charles’ weight off of him, but the movement causes Charles’ sticky skin to peel and chafe uncomfortably against him. “Wake up.”

There’s no response besides the steady, sleep-heavy rise and fall of Charles’ chest against his own.

“This is your fault,” Erik grumbles, pushing at Charles with more strength. Charles mumbles incoherently in response, not really waking up as he rolls himself away, his cock finally slipping from Erik.

Erik stares at the ceiling for a moment, winded, because _holy shit_ —that is a lot of come. All he can do is lie there and _feel_ it, afraid that it won’t be real if he moves or looks or touches. He’ll get up to take a shower and change the sheets as soon as he can catch his breath, he thinks. But he doesn’t. Instead, with a little thrill chasing down his spine, he falls asleep where he is.

In the early morning, Erik wakes to find Charles wrapped around his arm, his nose buried under Erik’s shoulder.

“Why are you still here?” he asks. It’s almost dawn now, and they both know what the day will bring them.

Charles nuzzles deeper under Erik’s arm, shaking his head and remaining silent.

“I can tell you’re happy,” Erik says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Charles’ smile is pressed into his skin, the sharp line of his teeth a reminder of the night before.

“Shush,” Charles says, finally pulling himself free of Erik, but nipping playfully at Erik’s arm as he goes.

Erik can feel the bite on his shoulder still, the skin there itchy and dry when it should be—would be, were Charles _human_ —smooth just like the rest of him, but he can’t bring himself to mind. He raises an eyebrow at Charles’ toothy grin, trying to ignore the way his stomach is jumping at the sight of the blood still covering Charles’ face, darker now that it’s dried, and less fragrant, but still there, still his.

“Good morning,” Charles says coyly, running a hand down across Erik’s stomach.

Shivering slightly as Charles’ fingers move across smooth skin and dried come, Erik says, “I don’t see what there is to be so delighted about.”

Charles grins, kissing Erik’s shoulder. It isn’t unusual for Charles to be so cuddly, but Erik is still trying to figure out exactly what’s going on. “You don’t smell horrible anymore,” he says.

Erik wrinkles his nose. “No,” he says, regretting his decision not to shower. “I smell like you.”

Humming his agreement, Charles curls himself more tightly against Erik’s side. “You smell perfect.”


End file.
